


The Ghost of Storm's End

by ariel2me



Series: Baratheon Brothers [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, ghost story, little Stannis and little Robert before Robert was sent to the Eyrie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 04:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2453936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Stannis and Robert explore Storm’s End one dark and stormy night while their parents are away. They come across the vengeful ghost of Argilac Durrendon who is bent on destroying the descendants of Orys Baratheon, his slayer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ghost of Storm's End

“Hurry up, Stannis,” Robert hissed, impatient with his little brother’s slow progress. Born a year apart, the two brothers had been about the same height for most of their life, but a sudden growth spurt early in the year had shot Robert up more than a full head taller. Now he often strode purposefully ahead with his long legs, while Stannis struggled to catch up.

“We should turn back,” Stannis said. “Father said we are not to venture to these corners of the castle,” he reminded Robert.

“Father is not here,” Robert replied. Lord Steffon and his lady wife had gone to the Reach to attend a wedding.  

“We can’t disobey Father’s command just because he’s not here.”

“Oh don’t be such a baby, Stannis. Are you scared of the dark?”

“I am not scared!”

“Don’t you want to see the ghost? He has long hair and even longer nails, they say,” Robert said with relish, his eyes huge and glowing.  

“There is no ghost,” Stannis insisted. “Maester Cressen said there is no such thing as ghosts, in Storm’s End or anywhere else.”

Robert frowned, considering that for a long while. Lessons and book learning had never held much interest for Robert, but to a boy of eight, Maester Cressen was still a figure of wisdom and authority. And if Cressen said there is no ghost …

“It’s not really a ghost,” Robert finally said. “It’s an evil spirit, that’s what it is,” he declared triumphantly.

“What’s the difference?” Stannis asked, suspicious.

 “There are spells and curses involved,” Robert replied. “And … and … some kind of magic.” He paused, for effect. “Blood magic,” he said, ominously.

“Mother said those are just stories to scare little boys, so they will behave and not be naughty,” Stannis said, not fooled by his brother at all.

“Well then, if they are  _really_  just stories, what are you afraid of? Go on, open that door,” Robert said, challenging his brother.

Stannis swiftly opened the door, to show Robert what a fool he was. It was not a big room, and the light from the two candles the boys were carrying was enough to illuminate the whole room. “See, there’s nothing here,” Stannis declared. “We can go back to our rooms now.”

Unfortunately, Robert had caught sight of something that interested him far more than ghosts or evil spirits. On one corner of the room was piled up armors, swords, arrows and lances, bringing a glint to Robert’s eyes when he saw them. “These are all so finely made,” he marveled. “Pity they have not been polished for a long time.”

“They have not been used for a very, very long time, by the look of it,” Stannis said.

 Robert picked up one of the swords, a big, heavy thing, grunting with the effort. “Take that one,” he ordered Stannis, pointing to the twin of the sword he was holding. “I can beat you in five moves, or even less, I know it.”  

“You know we are only allowed to spar with wooden swords. Father said we must be older and stronger before we can use real swords, for our own safety.”

Robert sighed. “You are  _such_  a bore, Stannis. It’s only a game.”

Stannis stood his ground, refusing to pick up the sword.

“When I go to the Eyrie, Lord Arryn will not force me to use wooden swords. Ned and I will spar every morning with real swords. We will go riding every afternoon, and we will play all sorts of games besides. We will have lots and lots of fun, because Ned is not a bore like you.”

“Who,” Stannis asked, his eyes wide, “is Ned?”

“Wouldn’t  _you_  like to know,” Robert said, sounding smug.

“Is he Lord Arryn’s son?”

Robert shook his head.

“Who is he, Robert? Who is Ned?”

But Robert’s attention had been caught by something half-hidden under the armors. “Help me drag that box out,” he told Stannis.

“Not until you tell me who Ned is,” Stannis said stubbornly.

Robert groaned. “Ned is Eddard Stark, Lord Stark’s second son. He is going to be fostered at the Eyrie, like me. His father wrote to our father, saying that he hoped Ned and I will be the greatest of friends. Satisfied?”

“You have not even met him,” Stannis scoffed. “How do you know you can call him Ned, if Eddard is his real name?”

Robert did not bother replying, too busy examining the wooden box they had dragged out. “Look, it’s our sigil!” Robert exclaimed, pointing at the prancing stag carved on the top side of the box.

“Fire and blood,” Stannis read the words etched beneath the sigil. “But those are not our words. They are the Targaryen’s words. How strange.”

“Maybe it’s a gift. I wonder what could be in it,” Robert said, eyes alight with excitement, imagining all sorts of wonderful treasures.

“If it is a gift, the content would have been taken out a long time ago,” Stannis pointed out, reasonably enough, he thought; but Robert grumbled that Stannis was being a sourpuss and a tedious bore yet again. Before Robert could make another reference to all the fun he was going to have in the Eyrie with Ned Stark, Stannis quickly lifted the lid of the box.

“Wait!“ Robert shrieked, completely taken by surprise.

“There’s nothing in the box,” Stannis said. “Look.”

Robert did not have time to look. A gust of strong wind suddenly blew past the boys – a very strange occurrence, since the windows in the room were all closed and securely latched – and the candles they were carrying were both snuffed out.

 _We should have kept the door open_ , Stannis thought, too late. He groped for his brother’s hand in the dark, not finding it. Robert was just next to him a moment ago, where could he have gone? “Robert?” There was no reply. “Robert, stop fooling around this very moment!” Stannis yelled, half-angry, half-annoyed, convinced that Robert was deliberately hiding and staying silent to play some tricks on him. 

“I’m going to leave now,” Stannis declared, but making no move towards the door.

“You’re not going anywhere, little boy.”

“Stop it!” Stannis scolded his brother. “Stop trying to scare me with that voice.”

“I am not your brother, little boy.”

Of course it was Robert, Stannis told himself. Who else could it be? No one else was in the room with them. Robert was good at imitating voices and making faces; it would not be impossible for him to make his voice sound so horribly deep and growly. 

“I’m not going to fall for your foolish tricks and your silly games, Robert, so there!” See if Ned Stark would be so tolerant and indulgent with Robert’s childish pranks. Not very likely, Stannis expected.  _Northmen are a grim, gloomy lot, on account of it being so cold up there even when it’s not winter_ , Stannis had overheard Great Uncle Harbert saying once.

“Impertinent little boy! I’ll teach you not to be so rude.”    

Stannis had had enough. He moved towards the door, his hand touching the wall to help him find the way. A flash of lighting struck the window, illuminating the room for a brief moment. And then the candle Robert was holding suddenly came alight again, and that was when Stannis saw, for certain. There was someone blocking the door! Someone who was holding up a terrified Robert by the collar of his nightwear, as if he was holding up a puppy, or a kitten.

“Who are you?” Stannis demanded. “Put my brother down this minute, or I will scream for the guards.”

“Go on then, scream all you like,” the strange man said. He was much older than Father, Stannis saw, but still strongly built for a man who was no longer young. His long hair was mostly grey, with streaks of black, which must be the original color when he was younger, still present here and there. His nails were not long, though; they were short and looked well-cared for.  

They shouted, Stannis and Robert; yelled and screamed as loudly as they could, but no one came. Not a guard, not a knight, not even Maester Cressen. Robert, who seemed to have found his voice and his courage again, declared in an imperious tone, “Do you know who we are? We are the sons of Lord Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End. I am his oldest son, his heir. You will be severely punished for treating my brother and I in this manner.”

The man wailed with fury. “Baratheon?! A Baratheon, as lord of Storm’s End? What a foul curse has befallen me, that my slayer should –“

 While Robert was saying his piece about who they were and the old man was busy wailing with fury, Stannis ran to the corner of the room to fetch a sword.  _This is not sparring or playing around, Father_ , he justified it in his mind.  _We are in danger_.

Pointing the sword at the man’s stomach  – Stannis would have aimed for the man’s heart, the better to threaten him, but alas, he was not tall enough to reach there  – Stannis said, “Let us go. Now.”

To his horror, the man grabbed the sword from Stannis’ shaking hand and plunged it into his own stomach.

“Run!” Stannis shouted at Robert, who was, for once, speechless.

Robert could not go anywhere. There was no blood. And the old man was still standing upright, with not a scratch on him. The sword had fallen, making a clanging sound as it hit the floor, startling all three occupants of the room.

“He’s a ghost. He really is a ghost,” Robert whispered, his voice strangled.

 _A suicidal ghost?_ The thought was so absurd Stannis almost laughed out loud.  _There is no ghost_ , he repeated to himself.  _Ghosts do not exist._  

“Why did you do that? Why did you plunge the sword into your own stomach?” Robert asked, sheer curiosity winning over terror for a moment.

“You will never comprehend the depth of my despair. My murderer now lives in my castle, sleeps in my bed, rules over my people and my land.”

“You cannot kill yourself if you are already dead,” Robert pointed out, being so logical and reasonable all of a sudden, quite unlike his usual self.  

“Our father never murdered anybody!” Stannis protested, vehemently.

“Oh yes he did. I remember it well, the swing of your father’s sword on my neck. He taunted me before the battle began, you know. ‘ _I will make a present of your hands to King Aegon_ ,’ he said. ‘ _I will put them in the same box you sent the chopped hands of my king’s envoy_.  _An eye for an eye, they say. Well, a hand for a hand, I say_.’ He had the box with him, the one I sent to Dragonstone. Beneath the Durrandon’s sigil they had carved the Targaryen’s words – Fire and Blood.”

Robert was looking even more confused. “But … but …”

“Who are you?” Stannis whispered, fearing that he already knew the answer. The story about the envoy’s chopped hands were already known to him from Maester Cressen’s books, but the other part – about Orys Baratheon taunting Argilac Durrandon before the battle and promising to make a present of his hands to Aegon Targaryen – that was not in any books Stannis had read.

“I am the last Storm King, it seems,” the stranger replied, his voice heavy and mournful. The switch to mounting fury and anger came very, very quickly. Throwing Robert down on the floor, he said, his voice dark and ominous, “And now I must take my revenge on the sons of my murderer, if I ever hope to rest in peace in the land of the dead.” Robert groaned with pain when he hit the floor. From the evidence of the sword, they might not have the power to physically harm Argilac, but ghost, evil spirit or whatever he was, Argilac seemed entirely capable of physically hurting the boys.

“Do … do you mean to cut off our hands?” Robert asked, looking terrified. “Please … my father … my father has asked our armorer Donal Noye to forge a sword for me, my first real sword. It is supposed to be a surprise, my father means to give it to me before I go to the Eyrie. But I overheard them talking about it. It is to be such a glorious sword. Please, I beg you, you must not cut off my hands before I have the chance to hold that sword.”

“He doesn’t want our hands, Robert,” Stannis said. “He wants what he thinks Orys Baratheon took from him. But Orys didn’t murder you, he defeated you in single combat. That is not murder!”

“Orys is not our father!” Robert interrupted. “Steffon. Our father is Lord Steffon Baratheon,” Robert shouted. “So there! You cannot kill us to have your revenge, because we are not Orys’ sons.”

“How long has it been, since the days of Orys Baratheon?” Argilac asked.

“Close to three hundred years,” Stannis replied.

“You are still descended from Orys Baratheon. You have his blood in you,” Argilac stated. Without warning, he strode forward to grab the boys.

“We have your blood too,” Stannis said abruptly. “If you kill us, you will be a kinslayer, cursed by gods and men alike. How can you hope to rest in peace then?”

“Baratheon and Durrandon? It is not possible! I threw Aegon’s dishonorable offer in his face.”

“But they  _did_  marry. Oh yes, I remember this,” Robert said, forgetting his terror for a moment and looking very pleased with himself, for managing to recall something from his lessons, not at all a usual occurrence. “Orys Baratheon wed Argella Durrandon, the daughter of the last Storm King.”

The look of horror and disbelief on Argilac’s face was a sight to behold. “Liar! Dirty lying boys, both of you. My daughter would never have demeaned herself by marrying Aegon’s bastard brother. And she certainly would never have married the man who killed her father.”

“He rescued her from the bad men who put her in chains,” Robert piped up. “And he was very kind to her. He gave Argella a cloak to cover herself, and wine to drink and food to eat.” Of course Robert would remember a story like that; he lived for tales of chivalry and romance, of brave knights saving distressed maidens.

Argilac scoffed, looking very scornful. Tales of romance and chivalry had no currency with the proud and arrogant Storm King, and he certainly would not believe it of Orys Baratheon, his mortal enemy, to be a gallant suitor to his daughter.

“I don’t think your daughter had much choice,” Stannis said. “Would you rather that she be killed, like you?”

Argilac sighed. “My poor Argella.” He wept, soundlessly.

“She was very brave,” Robert said, feeling sorry for him, despite his fears.

Argilac raised his head. “Was she?”

But Robert had forgotten most of the details, so he glanced at Stannis to continue. “After you died in battle, Argella barred the castle and declared herself the Storm Queen,” Stannis said.

Argilac nodded. “As is her right and her duty, as my only child and my heir.” Frowning, he asked, “Then how did Orys force himself into the castle? Storm’s End has never been taken, or even breached, since the days of Durran Godsgrief.”

“Her own men betrayed her,” Stannis said. He did not mention those same men stripping Argella naked before putting her in chains, suspecting that would only serve to enrage Argilac further. Maester Cresen had not mentioned the stripping of clothes in his lessons either, but Stannis had read it in a book. How strange, the things Maester Cressen chose not to mention in his lessons sometimes. Stannis wondered how the maester decided, what to teach and what not to teach.  

“After their wedding, Orys adopted the Durrandon’s sigil and words for his own House,” Stannis continued.

“Because he loved his wife very much,” Robert said.

“I don’t think that was the reason,” Stannis disagreed.

Argilac looked almost … pleased. And satisfied, certainly. ”Ours is the Fury, eh? And the prancing stag he made so much fun of, before our battle.  _‘A dragon could eat your stag to break its fast without even belching_ ,’ Orys boasted. But he had to live with my prancing stags after all. No dragons for him, eh? No  _Fire and Blood_  for Lord Orys Baratheon. His precious fake king did not see fit to legitimize him, even after all the service he’s done for Aegon Targaryen.”

Robert’s face was turning red. The slight to their Baratheon ancestor rankled him. He had been willing to ignore it the first few times Argilac bandied about the ‘bastard’ insult, but it was finally too much for him. “It was only a malicious rumor whispered by his enemies, that Orys Baratheon was King Aegon’s bastard brother,” Robert declared, full of injured pride and injured dignity.

Argilac laughed, a very unpleasant sound. “Don’t forget, I’ve seen him with my own eyes, boys. You would have no doubt of his origin if you had seen the color of his hair and his eyes, no doubt at all.” Staring at Robert and Stannis intently, for the first time, Argilac asked, “Is your mother black of hair?”

“No, our mother’s hair is light brown in color,” Robert replied.   

 “Father is the one with black hair,” Stannis said. “All Baratheons have black hair.”

Argilac laughed again. “Not Orys though. Oh no, not him. His hair were of a silver-gold so fair, they looked almost white under the glare of the sun.”

“Argella was the one with black hair,” Stannis said, finally understanding.

“And she got it from me, and I got it from my father and my father’s father before him. The line of the Storm Kings might be ended in name, but –“

The candlelight suddenly flickered and swayed, threatening to go out. When the flame steadied again, the room was left with only two occupants, neither of which dared to speak for a long while.

“Is he really gone?” Robert finally whispered.

“I think so,” Stannis said. Wordlessly, they exited the room and walked slowly back to their own bedchambers. The brothers slept in adjoining rooms, but there was no connecting door between the two rooms.

As Stannis was opening the door to his own room, Robert said, “I expect you are afraid to sleep alone tonight. I will keep you company until you have fallen asleep.” His tone of voice clearly indicated that Stannis should be grateful for the generosity Robert was deigning to show to his little brother. It was Robert’s  _“I am the heir to Storm’s End and your older brother, so you must do what I tell you to do_ ” voice, the one Stannis despised.  

“I am not afraid!” Stannis was about to reply, angrily, but it struck him suddenly, looking at the white lines around his brother’s mouth, that Robert was perhaps the one afraid to sleep alone tonight.

Not that Robert would ever, ever, ever, in a thousand years, admit that to Stannis.

Soon Robert would not be here to order him around, to make fun of him, to play tricks on him. Stannis had thought that something to very much to look forward to, and yet …

He opened the door and waited for Robert to enter his room before closing it. He was so exhausted he thought he would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Robert still had some things to say, it seemed.

“Do you think Orys really did cut off Argilac’s hands and put them in that box?” Robert whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Stannis replied. “The box would not be in Storm’s End, in that case. If he gave the box to Aegon with Argilac’s hands in it, the box would be in Dragonstone, or King’s Landing.”

“And surely … if his hands were cut off …” Robert hesitated. He took a deep breath. “That thing we saw had both his hands intact.”

“He did not have any kind of injury, not even to his neck, where he said Orys finished him off.”

“Perhaps we are seeing him as he was at his best,” Robert mused, his eyes already closed.

But what  _had_  they seen, truly? An impostor? But what about the sword that did him no harm at all?

In the haze right before sleep came, Stannis recalled something else he had read. Orys Baratheon, just prior to his death, had ordered the hands and feet of Walter Wyl to be hacked off. Lord Walter’s father had been the one who hacked off Orys’ sword hand during Aegon’s failed invasion of Dorne, and Orys had taken his revenge on the son. Was it possible, with Argilac, that Orys had –

His feet were cold; that was what woke Stannis up. He opened his eyes to see that Robert had greedily appropriated the blanket they were supposed to be sharing for himself. Annoyed, Stannis grabbed hold of one corner of the blanket and was about to pull the blanket closer to him when the sight of the flame from the candle flickering and swaying reminded him of something.  

It was a dream, wasn’t it? It must be; ghosts did not exist after all.  But why was Robert sleeping next to him, in his bed, if nothing truly happened last night, if it was only a dream? It was the storm, Stannis decided. The thunder and the lightning must have frightened Robert, and he went into Stannis’ room so he would not have to be alone.

Robert had done this quite often when they were smaller - crawl into Stannis’ bed late at night when he was afraid, or when he woke up from a bad dream. When discovered the next morning, Robert would boldly and brazenly declare to all and sundry that Stannis had called out for him in the night, that Stannis would not let Robert leave his room, and Robert had stayed for his little brother’s sake. Stannis’ protests of – “I did no such thing!” – inevitably fell on deaf ears.

This must be a repeat of that, Stannis tried to convince himself, but he was not entirely convinced. “Robert!” He called out, wanting Robert to wake up.  _What happened last night?_  He would ask Robert. He would not mention Argilac Durrandon, of course, not unless Robert mentioned him first. No need to give Robert an excuse to laugh at him, to make fun of him.

Robert muttered something in his sleep, but his eyes stayed closed. Stannis was about to shake his brother’s shoulders, when he realized that Robert’s right hand was placed on top of Stannis’ left hand, as if Robert had tried to take hold of his brother’s hand in his sleep. Robert had held Stannis’ hand when Father took them to court the first time, three years ago. Robert’s grip was too tight and Stannis had complained that it was painful, but he felt inexplicably sad when Robert finally let go of his hand that day.

Stannis did not wake his brother. He fell asleep again, and dreamed of Robert and Ned Stark up high in the mountains of the Vale, holding hands and running away from a hungry dragon and an angry stag.


End file.
